


Something From Nothing

by disco_theque



Category: Foo Fighters, U2
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, M/M, Smut, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 11:12:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12747171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disco_theque/pseuds/disco_theque
Summary: A week after the events of The Chain, Edge finds himself alone at the bar.





	Something From Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Hoo boy, this came fast (heh). 
> 
> Written as a first-person stream of consciousness, by this intrepid author, also in a stream of consciousness. 
> 
> This follows along in my AU, and Edge is as in-his-own-head as ever. 
> 
> I'd be nothing without zoolovelies urging me to write.

“So last weekend you show up here with a cowboy, and leave with a cop… and tonight, you’re here alone?”

This bartender. This fucking charming bartender who has served me and you so many times now, but has never said more than a common courtesy to us… has decided tonight, of all nights, to actually strike up a conversation with me? This night that you wound up not being free after you convinced me to come out… but you didn’t leave me enough time to make alternate plans with Larry, so I’m sitting here, at the bar, very much alone? I could have texted Larry if you hadn’t let me know so late, but now that it is a certain time of night, Larry will assume a certain kind of thing if I text him, so I can’t just go ahead and text him. He’ll assume a certain kind of thing, Bono, and I am very much not a certain kind of man. I am a gentleman. I am a man who knows what he wants and I thought I knew how how to get what I want but you appear to have stood me up.

And this fucking bartender. This long-haired, handsome-faced bartender has been lingering in front of me all evening like he fucking knows exactly what is going on here tonight. Does he? Was he the one who brought all those cinnamon vodka shots to my table last weekend? Was there anyone at this bar who WASN’T you or Larry that night? My mind has chosen to block out anything that wasn’t directly impacting how my cock felt that night… but maybe I should have paid more attention last weekend, because this bartender is seriously charming and seriously having a direct influence on… me.

He’s grinning at me in a way that involves his whole face; his eyes are lighting up and his cheeks and forehead are all working together to cast this grin at me that is making me forget my own name, and it’s making me forget that I am currently very angry with you. You told me to come out for happy hour like the old days, that I could watch you sing karaoke like the old days, that we could go home together and you could do that thing you like to do with me, like the old days. And instead… I’m sitting here. Growing increasingly annoyed, but increasingly charmed by this FUCKING bartender.

“Dude, you okay?”

It takes me more than a few moments to realize he’s talking to me. Am I doing that thing again? Am I trapped in my own mind again? I probably am, but you’re not here to call me out on it, so I’m going to continue right on in my way because you’re not here to draw me out of my body.

“I’m fine.” Look at that. A reply, all by my self.

“Good,” He laughs, and he’s gone to the other end of the bar, just like that. But… he’s looking back at me? His eyes are laughing and his face is fixated on mine and I’m grinning into my beer that I’ve taken barely a proper drink of because that smile of his is too knowing for someone who doesn’t know anything about me.

Why does he care if I’m good? I’m an adult man. I am perfectly capable of being good on my own and I certainly don’t need his approval on how I’m doing.

But he’s back now, he’s standing in front of me and now he’s leaning over the bar, not at all unlike that way you lean over my kitchen counter, and he’s staring into my eyes and when did I finish my beer? I want to smile into it again, but it’s not at all normal for a grown adult man to smile into an entirely empty glass, so he takes the glass away and he’s filling it again and passing it back to me but I don’t feel the need to drink it any more.

“Y’know, the way you had that cowboy against the wall sure was something,” he’s saying, his voice a touch deeper, more direct. And I can only blush in response because all I can see is that cowboy and his perfect fucking face, and then YOUR fucking face, watching us from across the room, and then watching me in my own bed. But now when I focus, I see his face, Dave’s face, and he’s grinning again and it’s all I can do to take my beer from him and take a sip, a sip to show myself more than him that I am still in control here. I am still in control here.

“It was,” I agree, and look at that, I’m conversing like a sane human being.

“Wouldn’t mind at all if I was in his position,” and before I can even begin to think of a reply, he’s back at the far end of the bar, pouring shots, not-cinnamon shots, for some other laughing couple that’s not me or you or Larry, but they’re taking his attention for a moment and I can breathe normally again, just for a moment.

“Who says you’d be in his position?” I bravely ask. I may be drunk (has it really only been one beer?) and over-thinking things, but I’m not stupid. I know he’s bigger than me. I know that he can overpower me with hardly a thought. But he DOES give it a thought, because he’s throwing his head back and laughing and my god, what a sight to behold THAT is. His whole body laughs with him and his hair cascades down his back in a way that makes me want to take hold of it for dear life, and I want to tell him that, I want to tell him so much, but he’s back down at the far end of the bar again and I don’t know what to do with my hands so I take another unnecessary drink of my beer.

We would be an even match, me and him, Dave and I. He’s bigger than me, sure, but I’ve been working out and my arms aren’t anything to laugh at, now (I know you’re laughing, B, but please, please take me seriously for this one very important moment). I could very easily have him against the wall, against the bar, against any solid vertical thing that I wanted.

But… he’s taller than me. He’s got something else on me, too, and I don’t quite know what it is myself, but I can’t shake the feeling that he knows it, too.

“Your friend not joining you tonight?” he asks, and he’s always speaking in questions, always speaking in laughter, like he knows all the jokes in the world and I should be so lucky to get to attempt my guess at the punchline that just happens to be my own current events.

“I don’t know,” I reply, playing cool, playing cooler than the heat that has taken up residence in my cheekbones.

“Well that’s a shame,” he says, and it’s the first time he hasn’t asked me a damn question but the tone of his voice says that he thinks this is anything but a damn shame.

“Is it,” I reply, not quite a question, not quite an anything.

“Let me take care of these last few customers, okay?” And he’s back to his questions, but his voice has taken on a tone that interests me greatly. He’s asking my approval for the first time, and, B, this is something you’ve never done. You’ve always been more interested in approving yourself, your own wanton moans and cries, and that’s never upset me or done anything but make me feel like the luckiest man in the world, but you’re busy tonight, and this long-haired bartender wants my approval, and I am very much alone, so I am going to give it to him.

“Okay,” I say, and the night is decided.

I sit at the bar and nurse my second beer and I never knew I could take so long to drink a second beer but I am very much not feeling like my usual standard self tonight, so I take a sip and take a moment and take in the bar. This very bar that just last weekend saw me press a man I hardly knew against a wall, and then saw you and I leave together to do that thing for the first time we’ve ever done it.

But tonight… tonight I feel new and scorned by you and I am going to see exactly what this man has in mind. So when there’s no one left in the bar but us, and he comes back over to me and his eyes are laughing at jokes yet untold, I know that tonight is going to be one of those nights that remains nothing but a blur, and nothing but the exact thing I fantasize about the next time I am alone in my bed. I know that between you and Larry, you will make sure I won’t have to be alone in my bed any time soon, but I am very glad that I will have tonight to fill in the gaps, just in case.

“C’mere,” he says, snaps, and his voice is no longer the southern honey-laden drawl that we have grown so used to, serving us our drinks. He’s in control, I realize, suddenly, and I very much am not. And I have grown so very used to being the one in control. When I’m with you, I have to be in control because if I am not, you will not be, and we wouldn’t have any sort of compass, no map, no nothing. We would be a frenzy. And with Larry, we are driven by pure lust. There’s no storyline with Larry. It’s just pure attraction.

But with him, with Dave, I am powerless. I recognize it immediately.

I follow him, blind except for the voice leading me across the room. To my wall. To my Larry wall. To the exact spot that I had Larry, exactly at this time last week. Was it only a week ago? He leads me to the wall, my front to the wall, and where I would be in control, it’s him. It’s his long arms, his long legs, his long everything, and when did I even get pressed against the wall, face first? When did that happen? It’s nothing I can think about now because his mouth, his tongue, his lips are working along the back of my ears and neck and throat in a way that’s making me want to yell and am I actually yelling? Who’s even to say at this point? But he’s pushing me against the wall more insistently than he had been just a moment ago and every feeling is more than it was a moment ago and I am yelling, I’m yelling out loud and he’s growing stronger at every moment and I can’t bear to tell him to stop if I even wanted to now.

“How rough do you want it?” he’s asking and, oh my god he’s asking me this and I know that he had been asking me questions all night but now is the question that matters, now is the one that I have to give an honest answer to but now is the one time all night that I can’t answer, I can only moan and I can only moan in things that are hardly words, in things that I don’t know how to spell or pronounce in any state other than this one of the highest erotic experience (remember this, Bono, remember this highest erotic experience because I have never felt more alive than I do right now and I want to capture this feeling and bottle it up and share it with you so you can feel even a little bit of what I am feeling right now). But forgive me, Bono, because I can hardly think of you when I can feel his cock pressed hard against my ass, through our jeans, and I can feel my jeans growing tighter by the second and I am so grateful you told me to get new jeans that fit me the right way, for this exact moment.

“I want is as rough as you can give it to me.”

“Do you?”

He’s always speaking in questions and if he hadn’t accompanied this question with a sharp thrust of his hips, I would have had something to say, but this thrust of his hips has made me squeal, and he’s turned me around and now, his mouth. His mouth. His mouth is entirely devouring mine, finally, and his mouth is incredible. He’s so loud and so crass but when our mouths are together, we are almost equal, and I know this because he’s making those breathy little moan sounds that I love and he’s not doing anything to fight them and they’re the best noise I’ve ever heard and he’s saying “Oh… oh… oh…” as our hips meet in this frenzied way that I can’t say I’ve ever felt before.

But before I can get used to this rhythm, this song of his, he’s turning me around again and is that his belt? It’s his belt. His belt has been making this jangling noise for a while and I don’t even know when he undid his belt but he must have known I was going to be an easy fuck because I don’t remember a time before his belt wasn’t undone but now his belt is around my wrists and they’re above my head and this is so unlike any other time I’ve been in a situation like this. And I’ve never been an easy fuck before. I’m the one who leads you on, Bono. I’m the one who you have to plod and pry with your damn hips and your voice and that very essence that makes you you, and here I am, begging for this man to give me what I want, and it’s what I give to you, but I’ve never wanted it from you and he’s grunting behind me and he’s so, so much bigger than I am, in every way.

“I don’t have lube,” he says, he apologizes, he laughs and his breath makes my throat feel like it’s on fire.

“Spit is fine. I can take it,” I grunt through my teeth because my body is wound tight and I am pressed against a table now and it’s all I can do to not shove myself backwards and take MYSELF myself and he’s laughing, the most joyful sound I’ve ever heard, and then there’s the obscene sound of him spitting on his hand and transferring that onto his cock and he’s in me and I’m not ready and I’m yelling but because I’m not ready he feels so much more amazing than he would have felt if I was ready, and who’s to say what ready even means?

All I know is that all I can feel is him and he’s against me in a way that has me certain I never want to know what it’s like to NOT have him against me and he’s got me bent over a table and I have to laugh for the slightest moment because it’s the very table that Larry and I were just at a week ago, and this week feels like a year, and when was the last time I took you like this, Bono? When was the last time I was so overcome with need that I had to have you? I have to have you, B. I have to have you in this way that Dave has me, where he can’t even stop to consider me because he needs to have me so bad.

He’s hitting that spot in me now and I am yelling, yowling, howling, screaming and he’s clawing at any bit of my body his hands can meet and he’s sweating and I can feel it through my shirt and he’s screaming now and he’s going harder and harder and harder and harder and then he stills above me and if I stop to think about this for more than a moment I’ll realize how disgusting this table is, how disgusting all of this is, but I can’t think about any of this because I’m hard, so hard, and I need to do something about it.

So I turn my head and my voice surprises me because it’s foreign, in this voice that has been taken by the rapture and submission I just subjected it to and it hasn’t even occurred to me until this very moment that I have been the submissive one but I can’t think about that because I am turning to face his blazing eyes and demanding “Turn me around. Now.” and he’s finally listening to me and not meeting me with one of his own questions and he removes his belt from my wrists and I’m finally finally back in control.

And his eyes are a fire that I’ve never seen before in my life, and he looks at me with this look that dares me to regain my control so I say “Go down on me.” and he does, he does, he leans down and is on his knees and I take a handful of his thick, black, soaked hair and we are both so soaked with sweat and I never sweat and you always point that out to me but you aren’t here to point it out now, you’re probably off with Adam somewhere and it’s okay because I know he can give you what you want and right now I want to feel this man’s mouth and I AM.

But he must be able to read my mind because I am so close, I am so impossibly close, I am so close that I can feel my skin tearing apart, but it’s not my skin, it’s my shirt, and then he’s biting my neck and my shoulders and my arms and I am so happy I decided to start working out because he is biting my bicep and it feels amazing and it’s making me howl AGAIN and I forgot that I am supposed to be in control now, so I fist his hair tighter and HE howls and I hiss “Get back down there,” and he does.

He does.

And I come with a strangled scream that reverberates off every surface in this empty bar, this ridiculous bar that has seen us through every moment of our friendship, our relationship, whatever this is, through whatever I have with Larry, and through whatever I have with Dave. And he’s still sucking and tongueing and his tongue is too much, it’s all too much and I shove him off with a shudder and he falls to the floor against the wall and I can’t help but crawl on top of him.

And we are still.

And he laughs, and he can’t stop laughing and I’m not sure when I join in but I do join in because his face when he laughs is the most miraculous sight and his ridiculous long hair is hanging in front of his face in a way that makes him look safe and protected so I position myself so I’m protected by it, too, and we kiss and kiss and kiss and there’s nothing around us but him and I’ve never felt so safe.

And then we are still.

And I look down at myself and realize my shirt has been ripped and stained and ruined.

But he continues to be the one who knows better than I do, and how has anyone ever known better than I do? But he has another shirt in the back room. It’s too big and it smells like him. I put it on and it makes me feel small, so small, and this must be what you feel like, and it must have been what Larry felt like, but he looks proud to see me in his shirt and he sends me on my way.

I’m not drunk but I decide not to drive myself home, so I walk the three blocks, and it’s not raining this time and you’re not with me this time, and Dave’s shirt is swallowing me alive in his scent and he’s the bartender so we will see him a million more times, and will we acknowledge this?

But you will. You’ll put on his shirt after the next time we’re together, and you’ll give me that look that you do, that look that is at once all innocent and all experience, and you’ll know, and you’ll ask me why I have a red plaid flannel that’s two sizes too big and why does it smell like another man?


End file.
